Brick
by treeflamingo
Summary: Not everything can be planned for, and not all surprises are pleasant. No spoilers. Warning: is depressing. KyouxHaru
1. Brick

So this is a songfic, in that it's based loosely around "Brick" by Ben Folds Five. If you don't know the song, I'd recommend listening to it either before or after reading the story; it will make the story more powerful.

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She stared at the little stick for five minutes. Then she threw it in the bathroom garbage and called out of work sick. She stayed all day at home, thinking. She had had errands to run after work. Laundry to do. Shopping. She was supposed to visit her father. She spent the whole day alternately lying on her bed and sitting on it crossed legged, alternately reading and watching TV, alternately eating yogurt and yesterday's leftover tofu curry. Thinking. And when the day was over, she called Kyouya.

---

"Haruhi, you know it's extremely imprudent for us to meet like this." _What on earth possessed you to ask me to have lunch with you today? Here of all places?_

"I'm sorry." _I know. Have I ever asked you before?_

"We've already discussed the pros and cons. We agreed that maintaining secrecy would be in both our best interests. In the future I'm sure you'll be more inclined to honor that agreement." _I know you know. I know you've never asked for any such public commitment from me before. That's why I came_.

"I apologize."

The waitress arrived, a cheap-looking girl with a cheap-looking apron who took notes on a cheap-looking order pad. Haruhi ordered tofu curry. Kyouya ordered the most expensive thing on the menu, out of principle.

"Was it inconvenient for you to meet with me today?"

"Not terribly so." _I had to cancel lunch with the board of executives. Have you any idea what kind of excuse I had to come up with? When are you going to tell me why you called me out of the blue last night and asked me to have lunch with you?_

"I'm glad."

"When do your classes start again?" _Is this about the future? Money? (Are you about to stab me in the trust and ask for handouts like some common gold digger?)_

"September 2nd." _How could you accuse me of something like that?_

"As a junior, you'll finally be getting into the interesting classes. That will be good for you. Before you buy your books, check with me. I might have a few in my library. I'm minoring in law, after all." _I'm sorry._

"That's generous of you." _I think I love you sometimes_.

Kyouya smiled. It was a very small smile, but it was a genuinely happy smile. It was Haruhi's favorite sight in all the world, but she would never tell him so.

The waitress returned with their plates of food. They began to eat. A booth or two over, somebody knocked a plate off the table. There was a crash and a mess of salmon yaki udon and porcelain. Two waitresses rushed over with brooms and rags. The man with the clumsy elbows apologized profusely.

"I'm pregnant."

Kyouya stared at her for three minutes straight. She ate her tofu curry in silence. Then finally, "Don't worry. We'll figure something out," he said.

She stabbed through a piece of tofu. Hesitated. Lifted her gaze. He was eating neatly, light glancing off his glasses, and she couldn't see his eyes.

---

In an uncharacteristic show of support and affection, he offered to drive her to work or home or wherever she needed to go. She wouldn't look at him, because there were tears forming at the edges of her eyes. She declined politely and took the subway.

---

He didn't call her for three weeks.

---

For three weeks, he was attentive to his fiancée. For three weeks he went to dinner parties with her and stood in small circles making pointless chitchat that would never yield lucrative business opportunities, she hanging confidently, possessively from his arm, he smiling blankly at men who were smiling blankly at him, their women displayed on _their_ arms, competitively. For three weeks he listened to whispers, kept track of the vectors of gossiping eyes. Paid attention to who paid attention. Noticed who noticed.

"Do you see that?" winked the eyes of the middle-aged matron with the sleazy 16-year-old daughter and absolutely no say in what her husband did with his majority shares in a leading plastics company. "_That _Ohtori Kyouya is here." "Aaah, so he is, so he is," agreed the sideways glance of the petty wife of a member of the Diet who couldn't bear that neither of her sons had chosen to follow their father into politics. "The notorious Ohtori Kyouya is here. Must be a special occasion, hmm?" And they both laughed, their gold-crusted hands demurely covering their black mouths. They reminded him of vultures, with their small eyes and their wrinkled skin and their disgusting mouths. Jewelry-laden vultures.

"Finally accepting his responsibility, I see," said raised eyebrows of CFOs. "Finally realizing how good he has it - a rich girl, and not even ugly," agreed bushy eyebrows of startup financiers. "His father chose well for him. She might have been wasted on him if he didn't know how to use her, but it seems he's coming around. Probably had some romantic ideas to work out of his head." "Doesn't seem like the type, though, does he?" "Ah, but it's always the ones with the greatest potential who turn out to be nothing. No self-discipline. No respect for tradition." "Seems he's taking responsibility now." "Yes, yes. He'll do well." "Not too well, I hope." "He's a man like his father. We'll have to watch him carefully, of course." "Now that he's gotten his head in the game." "Indeed. Now that he's gotten his head in the game, and with a wife like that, we'll have to watch him very carefully." Kyouya began wondering how much trouble it would be to hire a ninja to shave the eyebrows off of all the sniveling, influential men who went to dinner parties.

His father noticed too, of course. That was the important part, that his father noticed. That was the goal. Kyouya was placing his face-time with his fiancée as an offering in front of his father, a sacrifice for the pacification of his venerable not-yet-dead ancestor. He was offering his obedience, hoping to curry favor, hoping to gain an eventual favor in return.

When, after three weeks, his father summoned him to his clean, untouchable office for afternoon tea, it was sooner than Kyouya had expected. He took the stairs halfway to the 30th floor, to give himself time to revise his plans. _It's too early_, he thought_. It can't be done yet. It needs more time. Much more time._

He stepped out of the elevator (the only entrance to his father's office was via elevator), and the secretary at the desk turned obsequious eyes on him.

"Father is expecting me," he said.

"Of course, Kyouya-sama. Please go in," she purred. Her cheeks were too soft, her lips too full; they got in the way of clear enunciation. She was too rounded, too ostentatiously curved. Kyouya wanted to button her shirt up.

His father sat at the center of a uselessly long desk that reflected dully the light from the twin floor lamps, like a 50 yen coin. His father was the hole in the middle of the coin, face empty and impassive, silver-black hair rejecting the light, and for a moment Kyouya was furious. He wanted to string him up, a piece of crude twine through that empty face, and hang him jangling from some commoner's rear-view mirror.

"Good afternoon, Father."

"Kyouya," his father greeted him. "Sit down, please." He sat, and the pruriently round secretary entered with tea.

"I've been pleased with your behavior lately," he said, and a guard went up behind Kyouya's eyes, because every commendation from Ohtori Yoshio was in fact a threat.

"I decided it was time to take a greater interest in the social circles of my peers."

"That is a wise decision. One can never be too interested in the movements of one's peers. You must remember, however, that no matter how much interest you take in others, others will always be more interested in you, _Ohtori Kyouya_." The emphasis there, at the end, was not simply on the surname. It was on the whole thing. _Ohtori. Kyouya_. It was an acknowledgement that Kyouya had achieved an independence of reputation. He was watched not simply because he was an Ohtori. He was watched because he was Ohtori _Kyouya_. It was an honor, to receive such acknowledgment from his father, and the bottom of Kyouya's stomach dropped out.

He wrapped cold fingers around his warm teacup. It was a traditional ceramic cup with traditional sencha green tea filling it, and no tea leaves.

"Suzushima-san's family has also been pleased lately," his father continued. _Here it comes_, Kyouya thought, and inhaled the earthy smell of the tea. He had always found that smell particularly calming. "You are aware of how your previous behavior was being perceived by your fiancée's family. Reforming your behavior is another wise decision. It has not gone unnoticed." Kyouya sipped the tea. His gaze remained straight, above the tea cup, skewering the 50-yen-coin-hole, concentrated on his father. "You are also aware, of course, that such reform was expected. Had you continued in your negligence of Suzushima-san, action would have been taken." Kyouya put his tea cup down. "Going forward you will be expected to spend more of your time with Suzushima-san. You will incrementally increase the attention you devote to her until your wedding next summer. She will, naturally, segue into a less demanding role once the two of you are married and you have begun your graduate studies. All other interests you may be pursuing should be put on hold until that time." He paused.

Kyouya sat very, very still. He could think of no response to make. His mouth would not open to form the obligatory _Hai, otou-sama_. He knew what his father was driving at. He was terrified.

Yoshio tilted his chin up and the lamplight fell flat against his glasses so that, for the first time in the interview, Kyouya could see his father's eyes. They held same look as a tiger approaching an already wounded deer, when the deer cannot get away, and both tiger and deer know it. Pitiless. Untriumphant. Businesslike.

"As a married man, an Ohtori, and especially as the heir to my position, you will have to learn that not all of your desires may be indulged." Kyouya felt that he had lost the control of his face. _The heir to my position_. "You will learn that certain things are allowed, but not until you have achieved the appropriate rank." _The heir to my position_. _The heir to my position_. "This is something both of your brothers have learned." Here he sipped his tea for the first time. "It is something I, also, had to learn." He put the teacup down again. "Failure to understand this, Kyouya, is unforgivable."

Kyoua had given up keeping tabs on what his face was revealing. Understanding sank in his stomach like a brick, flew sharply through his mind like breaking glass, and if it all showed on his face he didn't care. _I will not make her my mistress_, he thought. _I will not make her wait years. I will not ask that of her. I will not ask that of our child. Even if my brothers have. Even if _- his thoughts hitched here, re-cycled a few times, and he forced himself to continue - _even if Father has. Even if Father has asked that of his women, and has forced that on God knows how many bastard brats that I have never met, I will not do it. _Conviction settled like a heavy stone in soft mud. Sucker-stuck. Irremovable. _I cannot have her as my mistress. I cannot have my child this way_. His eyes were hot as weapons, and painfully dry. He rose carefully from his seat. "I understand, Father," he said, and his voice was uninflected. Un-polite. Not the voice he used with his father. He left the room.

---

He called her, and it was a Wednesday night, and they arrived separately at one of their favorite restaurants. It was a tiny European-style place, only six tables, that accepted no reservations. The only lights were candles, of which there was an abundance, and the food always took especially long to appear. They spoke, but neither understand what the other was saying. Neither wanted to understand. Neither wanted to be understood. They ordered, Kyouya for Haruhi and Haruhi for Kyouya, because it was a game they almost never played anymore. Haruhi ordered the most reasonable thing on the menu, and Kyouya ordered the most expensive, because that was part of the game.

For a while they ate, slowly and with care, like every other couple in the small dining room who hoped that their faces would somehow be less recognizable in candle light.

Then Kyouya took off his glasses, and Haruhi put her fork down.

"Under no circumstances will I be able to acknowledge this child." _I'm sorry_.

"I see."

"My name must not go on this child's birth certificate. This child must never know who his father is." _I'm sorry I'm sorry_.

"I understand."

"I will set up accounts in pseudonyms for the both of us. I will deposit a reasonable amount of money each month, commensurate to the needs of the child. I will create a separate account for the child's college fund." _I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry_.

"Thank you."

"It is up to you how you explain to the child where the money comes from, if you find it necessary to do so at all. Aside from the college fund, which will not concern you until the child graduates from high school, the money will be yours to use as you see fit. I will have no direct contact with you at any point during the child's upbringing. I will never see you personally after tonight." _I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry_.

"I've decided to have an abortion." _I'm sorry_.

A tear slid down the impeccable surface of Ohtori Kyouya's left cheek and landed with the tiniest, quietest, most unassuming scream on the edge of his plate.


	2. Mortar

So this is, in fact, chapter 1 of the happy-ending-arc. There will be a chapter 2 (or a chapter three, depending on how you're counting) following it before I start writing posting the unhappy-ending-arc. Please note that the two arcs are totally separate - they are mutually exclusive possible paths from a single starting point (being, in this case, Brick). Anyway, I hope you enjoy, and please leave me comments and concrit! :D

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Kyouya does not touch his food. Haruhi finishes her whole plate. The bill comes, and when Kyouya says, "Expensive," it is the first word that has vibrated the air between them in half an hour. He pays, an especially generous tip, because he is so, so damn sorry.

Outside the restaurant there is an alcove, of stone that never dries, in between the wooden sort of arbor that frames the door and the concrete-and-plaster bumpout of addition, the kitchen. He pulls her by the upper arm until they are standing in the space of one person in that alcove where it is always at least five degrees cooler than the rest of Tokyo. This is the way every night ends, at this restaurant. He pulls her here, and she always moves heavily, like she wasn't expecting it, not resisting, though, just not helping. Like she always is. Always. He always kisses her, tilts her head up, tilts his head down, straight. The angles are tight; no room for triangulation of necks. It is always a brief kiss. It is always the kind of kiss he longs to give her more of. He doesn't kiss her tonight. He tilts her head up, tilts his head down, straight, and brings his mouth to her ear.

"When?" _I need to plan how my heart breaks. Give me a timeline. I need to plan this, Haruhi._

"I made an appointment for next Tuesday." _The faster the better. Like ripping off a band-aid, Kyouya. Just let me get this done_. She breaks away from him, and it's like he was never holding her at all. She walks down the road in the direction of the subway stop, a quarter mile away. She places each foot deliberately, in those tottering heels that no pregnant woman should wear after the first trimester, out dignity if nothing else, and he sees what she is doing.

---

He finds out, because it is habit. He doesn't bother questioning the merit. He doesn't care to scrutinize his motivations. If she were anyone else, he would find out. So he finds out. It is a respectable clinic. Not connected to Ohtori at all; it's a controversial procedure, and Ohtori won't have anything to do with it. It's an independent practice, in fact. A busy one, well-reputed. He ascertains that she did not get the first available appointment. She is going in at 8:30 in the morning for a surgical procedure. Which means she must be at least two months along. Must have known over a month before she told him. No. No, not likely. She told him as soon as she knew, and she checked as soon as she had a reason to. He works through the improbabilities and he recognizes the mistake. He shakes his head at the computer screen, at the details of Haruhi's appointment. It was so unlikely. Shouldn't have happened. Shouldn't have happened. He makes one mistake and this is how big it blows. Blows, blows, blows up. Like a pustule. Like the Plauge, and the scent of posies and crematoriums. No. No no no. It's a _child_.

"I'll have to pay for it, of course." He speaks out loud, so his thoughts don't get lost in the screaming. "She'll probably be there until the afternoon, and she'll likely have to miss an extra few days of classes. I'll have to hire a note taker for her. I'll get in touch with the students with disabilities department tomorrow. I can't imagine secrecy will be too expensive. None of this should get out of hand." He closes tabs, erases incriminating searches from the browser history, closes the laptop.

Places elbow on laptop, removes his glasses, leans the bridge of his nose against two pinching fingers. _"What am I doing?_"

---

He walks into his father's office at 9 o'clock Monday morning. He gave five minutes' notice. He does not address the secretary. Walks straight in. Unbidden. Yoshio is in a meeting with his two older sons. He has not bothered to dismiss them. Four eyes swivel at him, and two opaque white lenses. His brothers keep their faces politely blank, and he can feel their curiosity, their nascent triumph, emanating from their silk ties, their pores. "If Kyouya is urgent, it's a problem. If it's a problem for Kyouya, it's a solution for us." He is disgusted by them, and they are not important. His father regards him with mild surprise. Practiced.

"This is sudden, Kyouya. I hope you've had no trouble with the Minami Group – I know you had a meeting with them this morning about-"

"You know what this is about, Father." He will no longer tolerate civility. He wishes this to be known. "I am breaching the terms of the contract. I want to know how you intend to penalize us."

In the room there are four dark points that matter, and four glass ovals and a few trim inches of wire and roughly six cubic feet of grotesquely irrelevant air between them. Assessment moves in vectors. Threats move in rays, beginning at the immovable points on the grid, following complementary slopes until they intersect and form closed circuits. The older brothers feel lost again, and this is comforting to them. In a room with Father and Little Brother, they are always a little out of their depth.

"You are aware, Kyouya, that it is not just _our_ contract you are disrespecting. We will discuss this when all the family heads are present. Bring your wife." No civility. No threat. Kyouya realizes: he, also, is afraid, with decisions to make.

This lets him smile when he says, "Yes, father." _Hai, otou-sama_.

---

She walks into the clinic at 8:15 Tuesday morning, fifteen minutes early, like they told her to, and his chest steers her back out. His hand on her abdomen, then her waist, then her back. She realizes there is a shiny black car in the parking lot.

"Don't worry about the cancellation fee. I've dealt with it." _Did you really think I would let you do this? I wouldn't blame you if you did_.

She tries to say his name, but can't. She stutters the first consonant a few times. They are nearing the car.

"We have to be at city hall in forty-five minutes. Tamaki and Ranka-san will meet us there. Breakfast is waiting for you in the car. We have a meeting with my father at 10:30. You'll have changed into appropriate clothing before then, of course." _Please say yes please say yes please say yes please say yes please say yes._ He stops, because they've reached the car. He makes as if to open the door for her but does not. He bars her from it. Looks directly at her, angling his neck downwards, as if to kiss, because she did not stop walking until he took his hand off her back, and now there is barely enough room for both of them in front of the car door. "You will marry me, won't you?" _Please say yes_.

She's looking up at him, but he doesn't know how long it's been since she looked up, since she stopped staring straight ahead, at the sky line, the car, his chest. He can't truly see her. Perhaps his glasses are dirty. "But… Kyouya, what will your father do?" _Yes yes yes yes yes yes yes_. She's touching the fabric of his shirt (he wore worn clothing, comfortable, neutral colors, because he wanted to match her) and he's convinced that it's about to explode.

"That's what we're meeting him at 10:30 to find out." Her brow expands from concern to illumination. She is practically glowing. Maybe that's why he still can't see her, can't take in her anatomically ridiculous, delicious eyes, her sweet, clean face, the way she's smiling at him with her whole body. Maybe that's why the sight of her passes directly into his long-term memory, is imbued in the place of the mind that processes happiness, without ever touching his retinas. Because she is too bright. He is trembling and he has no idea where his hands are. "I bought you a ring. It should suit your taste. A platinum band with 3.5 carats worth of diamonds embedded around the circumference." _Please say yes please say yes please say yes…_ "If you don't like it-"

"I'm sure I'll love it. You know my taste, Kyouya." _I said yes already_.

He kisses her, the simple kind, the honest and vulnerable kind, the kind he will pay any price in the world for the right to give her more of. He knows where his hands are. One is framing her cheek, supporting her jaw, wrapped like a conch shell around her ear (can she hear the surge, the blood riding tides through his fingers?), and the other is on her abdomen, where their baby is, and so he feels he is kissing their baby too.


End file.
